


What A Difference A Day Makes

by Cal_J_Fielding



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:38:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cal_J_Fielding/pseuds/Cal_J_Fielding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A introspective peice from Don's POV written in the second person. Focuses on the sibling realtionship over the years of Charlies life, until just prior to the series start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What A Difference A Day Makes

**Author's Note:**

> Written during early Season 1, and so details of the boys past have since been invalidated. I've left the information incorrect as the changes would have vastly altered the whole work.

You’re 8 when you suddenly get a brother, not that there hadn’t been 9 months to prepare but it still feels sudden to you. It’s not too bad, the crying at night isn’t much fun, but your dad bought you the action man you’d wanted forever and when you hold him, your little brother, you think he’s kinda cool.

 

You’re nearly 11 when he stops being cool and starts being annoying. 3 years old and he’s doing math in his head you can’t do on paper, so he’s smart and it’s annoying. It’s two days later when you realise it’s math that your dad needs a pencil and a long time to figure out and you finally get what the big deal is. So maybe, you think, maybe Charlie does need the tutor, but you still think it’s unfair that the interviews mean dad can’t take you go-karting like he promised.

 

You’re 14 and you just started high school. It’s good, you’re playing baseball, classes are going okay and the girls seem to like you. You don't see Charlie much now, he’s at home when you are sure, but he spends most of his time working in his room, playing with his numbers, if he’s not skulking away when you catch sight of him trying to pretend he hasn’t been watching your every move.  
But the weekend had been nice, you’d let him tag along on a bike ride with your friends and he hadn’t horribly embarrassed you, had even managed to keep up, mostly. And hey, Shelly thought you were ‘sweet’ hanging with your little brother, so maybe he is good for something.

 

You’re 16, you’ve just started your junior year and so has your brother. Your little brother, at your school. He’s everywhere you turn now, in the corridors, in 3 of your classes, in the gym – which is the only place you know that you can do better than him.  
Shelly doesn’t think it’s sweet anymore, but that doesn’t matter, it isn’t like you wanted her to come to the movies with you really. And the guys still think you’re cool, you’re still playing baseball and that’s good, even though it means you have to put up with Charlie spouting weird equations at you. Some crap he’s done to the statistics that is supposed to help your game, make you like him more, like that’s gonna happen.  
And the tense twisting feeling in your gut everytime you stand by and do nothing as some kid pushes him over, or one of your friends calls him names, or as blood drips from the cut on his eyebrow, chin, arm, knee, from the fist he didn’t dodge quite quick enough, well it doesn’t mean anything really.

 

You’re 18 and getting ready for your senior prom, your brother sat on your bed watching excitedly, math for once seemingly forgotten. It’s when you finally get your bow tie on right and he announces how ‘cool’ you look, that you realise just how much Charlie is missing out on.  
He’s not coming to prom obviously, he’s 10 years old, but unlike the younger brothers of your classmates he’s not sat there imagining how he’s going to look this cool when it’s his turn, this is his prom and he’s not going.  
You reach over and ruffle his hair, making him laugh and bat at your hands ineffectually with his own. And you find yourself, for maybe the first time since he joined your school, genuinely remorseful for all the times you’ve wished he were normal, stupid, dead.

 

You’re still 18 but today you graduated. Today you got that piece of paper that means you can get out of here. Go of to college where no-one knows you as Charles Eppes brother, where Charlie won’t be following you around, because your university is on the east coast and Charlie, he’s going to CalSci just round the corner from home.  
Today was a good day though. Charlie looked really cute in his cap and gown, like a little kid for the first time in weeks, for the first time since prom, if he wasn’t so excited about CalSci you’d think he was scared. No you know he’s scared, he’s been far to quiet recently, far to into his math and the panic attacks he gets sometimes have been happening a lot. Not today though, today he was smiling, clutching tight to your hand as you went up to get your diplomas together, as your parents took photograph after photograph of the two of you.  
You’re proud of him, you’ve realised this in the last month or so. Really proud, he’ll turn 11 in three weeks and he’s already graduated high school, is on his way to college and he still thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread, still doesn’t understand the fuss people make over him sometimes.  
You watched today as the press took his picture and asked him questions, watched as your jealousy grew for just a second before you noticed that he didn’t seem to like the attention either, noticed that he still hadn’t let go of your hand, noticed the excitement in his eyes being replaced by a small spark of panic.  
You stepped in then, said a few words and led Charlie away, watched the panic fade into gratitude, gratitude for such a small thing, something you should have been doing for years, and that feeling in your stomach was back, but this time, this time you could admit what it was.

 

You’re 22 and the college experience is finally over, and you’re all set for Quantico, for a career you think you can make your own.  
University has been good; you’ve worked hard, had fun, made some great friends, put yourself out there and not been found lacking.  
You don’t see your family much, sure you head back west for the holidays, but the phone calls have become pretty irregular and while you always remember to ask how Charlie is you usually don’t wait for an answer.

 

You’re 25 and you’re an FBI agent, and it feels damn good to say that. You love your job, and love the fact that you’re good at your job as well. The years spent ploughing through that criminal sciences degree paid off, you breezed through half your classes at Quantico and the position you have in the Albuquerque office is working well.  
You’re closer to home, living in New Mexico, which makes travelling back for the winter holiday less strenuous, but you’ve noticed that, as Charlie would put it, the distance from you to home indirectly correlates to the time between your family phone calls.  
You don’t know much about what Charlie is up to. You get updates on life from your mom and dad, but somehow the descriptions of Charlie’s activities never have much depth. You know he has his PhD, he got that when you were 24, you know he’s still at CalSci, doing post doctorate work, maybe something about teaching. The idea of little Charlie up front in a classroom, curls bobbing as he scrawls chalk across a board, well it would suit him, you guess, except all you can think of are the rows of college kids he’d be teaching, all older than him, and really, how’s that gonna work?  
But other than that you know nothing, and you’re okay with that. You’re two different people, living your own separate lives and what good is it going to do anyone for you to know every intricate detail of Charlie’s life? It’s all just numbers anyway.

 

You’re 32 and your mom’s dying.  
32 and you’re not sure if your little brother is going to make it through this.  
He’s 24 in body, at least mid 40’s in mind, and probably 12 in heart and soul, and sometimes you think he’s never going to grow up. Sometimes you don’t want him to, but mostly, mostly you wish he’s wake up and see the world for how it is, see it without looking through the veil of numbers behind which he lives.  
He’s retreated to the garage now, retreated to his math. Buried his head in numbers and unsolvable equations and minesweeper for God’s sake, and your mom is dying but that doesn’t seem to register.  
You’ve never claimed to understand what goes on in his head, how his mind works, but you’ve never truly worried for his sanity before. But this, to you this looks like a crisis point, a lot like the end of the line and you just know you can’t lose your brother as well as your mom.  
But Charlie hasn’t eaten the food you brought down for him and he has that manic, not quite stable look in his eyes, mumbling equations under his breath and you just want to shake him. Shake him until he focuses on the real world, until he focuses on you and whisper-speaks your name in that soft way he always did as a kid, because you’ve been here three weeks and you’re not sure if he’s even noticed your presence yet.

 

You’re 33 and your mom’s been dead for 5 months. It hurts and you miss her, but you’re all starting to move on. Charlie snapped out of it about a week after the funeral, you found him crumpled on the garage floor, staring blankly at his equation filled blackboards, tears streaming down his face, hands shaking. Hands that clutched desperately at your shirt once you’d crossed the room and gathered him close.  
He knew you were there then, your name spilled from his lips, raw and pained. “Donnie” and “mom” over and over all interspersed with great wrenching sobs as he disintegrated in your arms.  
And it was then, your anger and fear still burning bright in your chest, that you promised yourself that you would have him in your life, not just orbiting around it. That you would be his brother, his math and rambling and mental instability be damned, you would be his brother and let him be yours.


End file.
